<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Bacta Tank, Sorta? by Bumpkin</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25329169">Bacta Tank, Sorta?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin/pseuds/Bumpkin'>Bumpkin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, Pre-Reboot, Star Wars References, sciencing while sleep deprived</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:28:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25329169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin/pseuds/Bumpkin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim came awake slowly, feeling much better than he had in ages. </p><p>Both physically and mentally. </p><p>In fact, he couldn’t remember feeling as well rested, or in such little pain since… ever. The closest he could come to would be when he was about seven or eight years old and hadn’t started following the Bats yet. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>What in the hell had he done last night?</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tim Drake &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Works good enough I will definitely reread</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bacta Tank, Sorta?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I want to thank both my betas, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veriatas/pseuds/Veriatas">Veriatas</a> (who without her support I don't know if I would have ever finished - and for being my Bruce-muse) and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl">chibi_nightowl</a> (who helped me wrestle my grammar into submission and made so many wonderful and helpful suggestions that made this so much better!).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bacta Tank, Sorta?<br/>
By Marns AKA Bumpkin<br/>
Rated T<br/>
Gen<br/>
(Wordcount: 4746)</p><p>"That's it!" Bruce roared loud enough to have the bats in the cave flutter and squeak as he stood on the driver's side of the Batmobile. "You're benched!"</p><p>"What? Why?" Tim protested as he got out of the passenger side, while evading guano from the ticked off cave dwellers roosting above. </p><p>He knew he wasn't exactly at top form, but he wasn't to the point where he was compromised yet. Sure, he'd only had about eight hours of sleep in the last week — between his vigilantism and the work he did for WE he’d been more than a bit swamped of late — and yes, perhaps he'd been a bit slow to secure his grapple on that last run. And maybe - just maybe -  he'd made a couple of rather rookie mistakes when dealing with the gang they'd just finished taking down...but none of that was reason enough to bench him! He was Red Robin and he’d certainly operated for longer when in worse condition before. </p><p>He opened his mouth to say just that and Bruce cut him off. "You're asking me why when you almost died due to your own carelessness at least three times tonight? Jesus, Tim, you can't even see how compromised you are - for your own sake, just go and get some sleep!"</p><p>Tim ripped the domino off his face, all the better to glare at Bruce across the roof of the Batmobile. "Fine! I'll go home and get some work done there. Don't worry, I won't bother you — or any of <i>your</i> family — anymore. I <i>can take</i> a hint." </p><p>He stalked over to the Redcycle and mounted it. </p><p>Bruce started to follow him. "Tim, no. That’s not what I meant. I just wanted you to go upstairs, not leave.”</p><p>Tim wasn’t listening, he was done and going <i>home</i>. He went to start the cycle, but the mask still in his hand foiled him. He stared at it for a moment confused, like he didn't know why it was in his hand, but then he just slapped it back into place on his face. That done, he started the Redcycle and took off before Bruce could do anything more than run his mouth.</p>
<hr/><p>He did actually go straight home, which was not the Manor, not with its Damian infestation. He pushed aside the bitter thoughts that always cropped up when he thought about how Damian had won, inasmuch that Tim no longer felt welcome in the Manor anymore. He really resented Bruce’s blood son for how he’d managed to change what had been a refuge into a place he didn’t want to spend any time in if he could help it. But the past was the past, he couldn’t change it, he could only look to the future. Hence he went to <i>his</i> home, the converted Theatre just outside of Crime Alley.</p><p>The trip back to the converted Theatre was a bit rough, so perhaps he had to give Bruce a little credit— at this point he probably was more of a danger to himself on the streets than the criminals were. </p><p>He didn't go to bed though; obstinately he made himself stay awake. In protest— or something like that. Instead of sleeping, like a sane person would do when they were as tired as he was, Tim wandered down into his lab space and started puttering around. </p><p>He came across some New Genesis tech he had, uh, <i>appropriated</i> from a skirmish he and the Titans had fought a few months back and began tinkering with it. The spectrums of energy it radiated made something tickle in his mind. He couldn’t quite nail it down, but there was something there that he’d been intending to look into, but had never quite found the time for before. </p><p>Now seemed like a good time. </p><p>Tim played with it for over an hour when, of course, he felt his eyes begin to get heavy. Still feeling obstinate and wanting to figure out was niggling at him about the New Genesis tech, he put on his Star Wars complete set to play continuously in the background. He always seemed to function better when there was more stimuli, something about keeping his brain occupied on multiple levels. Kon, Bart, and Cassie teased him about it all the time. The teasing didn’t stop them from taking advantage though, the jerks. </p><p>Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a container of Lazarus Pit water that he’d been meaning to look into with more depth. Hmm. Having more than one project on the go at one time also tended to help him figure things out, maybe he’d start the analysis running on that as well… and that was the last thing he consciously remembered for the night.</p>
<hr/><p>Tim came awake slowly, feeling much better than he had in ages. </p><p>Both physically and mentally. </p><p>In fact, he couldn’t remember feeling as well rested, or in such little pain since… ever. The closest he could come to would be when he was about seven or eight years old and hadn’t started following the Bats yet. </p><p>What in the hell had he done last night?</p><p>Then, as his brain woke further, he realized something was seriously off about his present circumstances. </p><p>For one thing, he wasn’t in his bed — or anywhere else that he tended to wake up after spending the night at his own home. Waking up at one of his workstations in the lab with papers glued to his face from drooling on them was altogether too common an occurrence. Depressingly so, but that’s not something he liked to think about. He’d much rather figure out what the hell happened the night before and where exactly he was now.</p><p>In case he wasn’t alone, he gathered information as best he could without giving away that he was awake. Not that he really thought he was anywhere but home, but his ‘family’ had a terrible habit of invading his space and he wanted to figure out what he had done before being confronted by any of them in case it was monumentally stupid. </p><p>His mental analysis of his current situation had him baffled.</p><p>Besides feeling better than he has in — <i>ever</i> — he wasn’t cold or overly warm. There was a curiously mixed sensation of pressure and weightlessness over his whole body, which he could clearly feel as he didn’t seem to be wearing anything other than his boxer briefs. </p><p>Why would he be wearing next to nothing? Alarms rang through his brain. </p><p>He didn’t dare risk opening his eyes at all, but he could tell by the slight orange glow he could see behind his closed eyelids that there was some kind of light on nearby. There was something covering his mouth, nose, and eyes. A face mask? Why would he be wearing a face mask? He wasn’t having any trouble breathing, and there was no sense that the air he was getting was pressurised. He also couldn’t smell any kinds of gas, in fact he could still smell the well known scents of his workshop— the mix of chemicals, coffee, and tang of the workshop itself was rather memorable. </p><p>If he had to compare the sensation to anything it would be to when he went full-face snorkeling back when Kon wanted to visit Hawaii and had dragged him, Bart, and Cassie along. Fun times and one of the few vacations he allowed himself. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter, Kon and Bart hadn’t taken no for an answer. Kon had grabbed him off the street while Bart ransacked his apartment to pack for him. </p><p>Cassie, at least, had thought to make certain that it wouldn’t negatively impact his life for him to suddenly disappear; she’d been the one to call Tam and let her know what they were doing. Tam, the traitor, had been in full agreement and had facilitated their shenanigans, but he digressed. </p><p>His attention turned back to his current situation where Tim grew more and more confused with every new discovery— confused and more than a little concerned.</p><p>He <i>really</i> wanted to open his eyes and get a better idea of his situation, but didn’t know if the risk was justified. Yeah, he could smell the familiar scents of his lab, but he couldn’t be certain it hadn’t been compromised. Did he dare? No, better not risk it quite yet. Instead he made some small testing movements to gauge his level of freedom, and while the good news was that none of his limbs were bound, the bad news was that he was submerged? </p><p>Wearing almost nothing and wearing a full face mask while submerged, jeez it was no wonder he had been reminded of his adventures in Hawaii— subliminally he must have picked up on the other similarities. </p><p>His hands and feet ventured further, testing his confines— and found he was in a tubular tank of some kind? </p><p>
  <i>What the hell? Yeah, nope, don’t care — time to get out!</i>
</p><p>Adrenaline flooded his system and his eyes flew open. Using the rush, he pushed himself sharply upwards with his hands and feet to get to the surface, not caring if there was anyone present to see him panicking. He was way too freaked out to care. </p><p>He calmed down when he found that the lid of his personal canister was easily opened, and calmed even more when he saw the ladder already set up that would allow him to exit the tubular tank with grace. Feeling more than a bit silly at his own paranoia after waking, Tim hauled his mostly naked body out of the slightly teal and green marbled tinted, overly-thick, water, and climbed down. </p><p>While on the ladder, he again realized just how well rested and good he felt. Nothing ached, nothing hurt. He felt amazing, both physically and mentally. </p><p>Seriously, what had he <i>done</i>? Because he had to have done this to himself. Who else would have dared to stick him in a cylindrical tube for some obscure reason?</p><p>When Tim got to the bottom of the ladder he realized he was still wearing the full face mask, modified to connect with some tubes for air, and took it off. He took note that it was the mask he’d brought back from Hawaii— no wonder it had felt so similar, it was literally the same mask! </p><p>God, he was starting to feel stupid, so many clues he should have picked up on. But he supposed that he could give himself a bit of a break, the mask was something he’d really only used once or twice, it wasn’t exactly used enough to really be familiar with, right? </p><p>Shaking his head, he moved over to his main work desk — easily spotted as it was the messiest at the moment — and after setting the mask aside, began searching through everything scattered across the station. </p><p>“Notes would be great right about now.” Tim muttered to himself. “Anything to give me some kind of clue as to what I did last night!” </p><p>Alas, sleep deprived him was not the most helpful— or the most coherent actually. </p><p>He squinted at one page where it looked like he’d scrawled, ‘Eureka!’ But that was the only part that was legible at all, the rest above and below was pretty much gibberish. Going through the rest of the papers left behind by sleep deprived Tim made him understand all the complaints he got from any of the other heroes he worked with. His tired handwriting really was bad enough to make a doctor jealous.</p><p>“Aha!” It took longer than he’d have liked, but finally, he found something.</p><p>Emphasis on <i>something</i> because the page of ranting didn't make a whole lot of sense. Seemed that when he was  really tired, he resented the need to sleep to the point that he monologued about it like a third-rate villain. “What the—?”</p><p>There was a whole lot about if he absolutely had to waste time sleeping, then sleeping should rejuvenate more than just his mind but his body too if it was such a healing thing to do, and then there was a whole bunch about Star Wars and Bacta Tanks. How they have the right idea and… the ramble just got more and more nonsensical from there. </p><p>Bemused, Tim shook his head and laughed softly. He had no idea when he was extremely tired that he resented sleeping so much.</p><p>But it did actually give him a clue as to what he’d gotten up to the night before. Somehow, he’d built himself a bastardized version of a Bacta Tank so that any time he spent sleeping wasn’t — according to tired him — a <i>waste</i>. </p><p>“Wait, did that mean?” </p><p>His heart began to speed up in excitement as he checked himself over, and then began to race when he saw that a number of his lighter scars had disappeared. More prodding revealed that some of the worst, like the one from his impromptu splenectomy, had faded somewhat. </p><p>“It worked? Whoa.” That was a hell of an eye opener. </p><p>Now that he had more than half a clue to start with, he wandered back over to the contraption he’d woken up in and examined it closely. He could see how he’d used some New Genesis tech to activate something about the fluid in the tank. The fluid in the tank was the next mystery, because it wasn’t water… not with the decidedly odd slight teal and green marbling to it, or its slightly gelatinous feel. He took a sample from the tank and took it over to his chemical testing station. </p><p>While that ran, he again looked for any notes his tired self might have left to help him figure out exactly what he was dealing with here. </p><p>Nothing. </p><p>“Dammit!”</p><p>Sleep deprived him might be a genius, but he was also an asshole who couldn’t take coherent notes or leave a voice log to save his life.</p><p>The high-performance liquid chromatography machine beeped, announcing it was done. </p><p>Tim went back over to read the results and gaped.  The liquid was some kind of synthesized version of the water from a Lazarus Pit. His head whipped around to where he knew his sample was stored and, sure enough, it was missing. </p><p>“Crap.” </p><p>Well that wasn’t good. </p><p>Or was it? </p><p>Maybe the synthesized version of the Pit’s water was different enough that it didn’t have the downsides of using the natural variety. He sincerely hoped that was the case. Besides, it didn’t seem like the special properties in the water worked when it wasn’t being activated by whatever the New Genesis tech did. Holy crap this was more complicated than he’d thought— past him had been majorly inspired.</p><p>The lack of notes had frustration welling up in him. “Argh! Why couldn’t sleep deprived me have left me something to work from other than nonsensical ranting!”</p><p>Sure, he knew he could reverse engineer his creation, but taking it apart could break something irreparably. Not something he wanted to risk. Not with how good he felt before the panic set in, or again when it was gone. Not with how healthy, how completely free of any and all pain he was at the moment, thanks to what he’d built. The thought of losing this feeling of well-being made him want to cry.</p><p>Did he keep using it? Cautiously, yes. Human trials were a viable scientific method, weren’t they? He was more than willing to keep lots of notes going forward, and perhaps meditating while in the tank could help him remember what he’d done. It was worth a shot anyway.</p><p>There was only one final question, should he tell anyone about his bastardized version of a Bacta Tank?</p><p>No. </p><p>If he told the wrong person, they wouldn’t allow him to keep using it, or they might even take it away to try and reverse engineer it themselves. <i>That</i> wasn't going to happen. This was his, he’d figure it out, and get it out to the public if possible. </p><p>His invention, and he wasn’t sharing. Not yet.</p>
<hr/><p>Tim woke up and stretched, bumping his hands against the sides of the tank which made him come to full awareness faster than he normally did after awakening. Feeling pretty good, he swam up the short distance to exit the tank. </p><p>As he did, he wished that when he’d built the thing a year ago that he’d been a bit less slavish in copying his version of a Bacta Tank to what was seen in the movies. Taking off the mask and hanging it up in the place he’d designated for just that, he thought idly that it would have been nice to sleep lying down after the drag out clusterfuck of a fight he’d been in the night before. </p><p>Remembering why he’d been in his Bacta Tank made him double check that everything had healed up properly. The fight had been beyond nasty, and he’d been rather worried about the knife to the gut he’d taken. </p><p>He marveled at his almost scarless skin while checking, because a year of use had really done wonders on that front. Although, he suddenly realized, he actually felt even better than he normally did after spending a night in the tank. Why? What was different?</p><p>His cobbled together creation worked wonders, true, but his lack of a spleen when flirting with something that would send him into sepsis often meant that he didn’t feel fully 100% even after a full session. That didn’t seem to be the case this time around and it made him curious. </p><p>He grabbed the experimental diagnostic wand the Justice League didn’t know he’d liberated from the Watchtower and scanned himself. </p><p>Tim blinked at the results. “What? That can’t be right.” </p><p>He scanned his body again, this time using a slightly different frequency. Same thing. “What the fuck?” </p><p>His body had a spleen again. </p><p> “That’s impossible,” Tim muttered, then scrambled over to his computer. “Isn’t it?”</p><p>Livers grow back to a certain extent, but spleens don’t.  At least, in strictly human terms of science, that was the case. </p><p>Tim turned his gaze away from his computer screens to eye his bastardized Bacta Tank warily. Perhaps it was time for him to share what he’d created with some other minds… </p><p>...for safety’s sake.</p><p>“Shit.” His shoulders sagged. “I’m going to have to tell Bruce. He’ll have a field day with this.”</p>
<hr/><p>"...and so the reason I’m telling you all this now is that I just found out today that I have a spleen again."</p><p>They stood in the middle of his workshop, facing the tank.  He’d handed over his notes on his personal ‘human trials’ that he’d generated in the year he’d been using it, but Bruce wasn’t saying anything, or reacting to any of it, he was just staring at him, face blank. </p><p>Tim felt himself twitch with nerves. And yes, he’d known that confessing would suck, but this silent condemnation was kind of pushing his anxiety even higher than he thought was fair. </p><p>"Jeez, Bruce, say <i>something</i> would you!"</p><p>Bruce opened his mouth, stopped, and closed it again. He exhaled sharply thru his nose, flaring it rather alarmingly, and only then after taking another deep breath opened it again to finally manage to get out, "Let me get this straight. You somehow — from inspiration from an old sci-fi movie — managed to cobble together — while heavily sleep deprived — something you call a Bacta Tank. A fictional device that can help a person heal from almost anything while they sleep."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And you figured out what you had made because you woke up in it the morning after — feeling better than you have in a long time and with a lot less scars — but the only real hint you had of what you’d made was some nonsensical ramblings you had written down. Ramblings that centred around how sleeping was a waste of time, that you really seemed to resent having to do it, and that Star Wars had the best ideas."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Bruce rubbed his face. Tim guessed it was more to hide his disappointed expression than for any other reason, and was going to say something in his own defence, but then Bruce picked up where he left off. "Then, despite knowing that you’d been heavily compromised when you built it, and having no real notes on what you built — never mind the total lack of safety testing —  you decided to <i>keep</i> using this creation of yours for almost a year. Even going so far as to add extra features, which were what again?"</p><p>Tim jumped at the chance to explain, but with better care in choosing his words, because he really hated feeling like he’d let Bruce down. "Uh, I guess the direct from the Batcave alarm that would wake me up in case of an all hands on deck situation is clear enough." </p><p>Bruce nodded, so yay, that was a positive </p><p>"Well, the other extra feature was something along the lines of a sleep learning set-up, but because of how the Tank works, it’s much more effective. When you go into the Tank, you aren’t actually sleeping, it’s more of a meditative state— one that allows you to retain much more information than you would using the same set-up when sleeping normally. I use a combination of programs, mostly text to speech, that let’s me select what I want to hear before going into the Tank. Depending on what I choose, I can keep up with reports from WE, keep up with my classes, keep up with my cases, and even make some headway in learning new languages. This Bacta Tank is incredible, the healing aspect alone has been such a boon, Bruce. I feel so much better and with the ‘extras’ I’ve added I’m also so much more productive, and I don’t always feel like I’m not pulling my weight—"</p><p>Bruce held up a hand, cutting him off before he could say any more. "Wait. Just stop for a moment. I just need to be sure I’ve heard everything correctly." </p><p>Tim nodded. Crap, here it was. Judgement time. </p><p>"We’ll come back to the last thing you said in a bit, but going back to the beginning— not only did you make something fictional a reality, your success over the last year — the leaps and bounds you have made in almost every aspect of your life — are in no small part are because of this Bacta Tank thing in combination with your sleep learning set-up?"</p><p>Tim cringed inside when Bruce said they were going to come back to the last thing he said, because, yeah, he <i>really wanted</i> chapter and verse of how he’d been failing, but only replied to the question itself. "Yes." </p><p>"But you don’t want to take it apart to figure out what exactly you built because—"</p><p>"I’m afraid that if we take it apart, we’ll break it, and that would be a very bad thing."</p><p>"It would be a bad thing because without it you feel like you weren’t contributing enough before?"</p><p>And here they were. Time for the list of failings. Joy. "Yes."</p><p>Bruce just stared blankly at him again, like Tim was speaking a language he didn’t understand. Then, after a moment where they stared at each other, Bruce moved forward, engulfing him in a hug.</p><p>Tim froze. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Where was the lecture? The disappointed face? Hell, he’d settle for the slight frown that really could mean anything and everything and had been known to make grown men crumble under the scrutiny.</p><p>After standing awkwardly with his arms limp, he tentatively returned the hug. He felt how the other man was shaking . Anger? Laughter? He needed a clue here. "Bruce?" he asked, concerned.</p><p>"Tim," Bruce said roughly. "Do you think I expect such a high level of competence all the time? You think I don’t understand having bad days, or even bad weeks?"</p><p>He drew away from the hug, but didn’t move far.</p><p>"I know you understand having bad days, or weeks, but that has never really applied to me,” he replied. “You’ve always held me to a higher standard than the others." Bruce went to protest and Tim stopped him. "No,  I get it— I know I pushed my way in where I wasn’t wanted,  so I had to constantly push to keep up to your standards, to keep proving myself. But because of that I was, still am, really, forever worried about disappointing you. Like now."</p><p>He sighed, looking away. This was it. He’d really done it this time.</p><p>Bruce put his hands on Tim’s shoulders and squeezed, making sure their eyes met before he spoke. "Tim, no, I’m not disappointed, not in the least. I <i>am</i> however— stunned, proud, amazed, frustrated, worried, and frankly a little bit scared for you." </p><p>Then he sighed heavily at the distrustful and doubting expression Tim knew was on his face. "Look, yes, at the beginning I did push you much harder than any of the others, but that changed fast, and I thought you saw that. You have more than proved yourself, many times over. I didn’t realize that you still thought that you had something to prove. I thought you understood how much you mean to the family, to me. You <i>are</i> one of us, now and forever. And always have been."</p><p>Tim could clearly see in Bruce’s eyes how much he meant what he was saying, and he wanted to believe. He really did, but there was one rather large stumbling block. "Damian doesn’t agree. He was very happy to have successfully pushed me out — both from the family and the Manor — and I don’t see him being very accepting of my coming back at all."</p><p>It seemed to click then for Bruce, understanding why Tim hadn’t been around, and why he actively avoided coming back to the Manor more often than not. </p><p>"You said something the night you left and ended up making that." Bruce pointed to the Bacta Tank and Tim, well honestly there was not a whole lot he remembered about that night so he raised a questioning eyebrow, hoping that Bruce would elaborate.</p><p>"You weren’t exactly coherent, but you said something about being able to take a hint, and that you wouldn’t bother me or any of my family anymore. Was that because of Damian?"</p><p>Tim really wanted to cuss out his tired self, again, because really? Could he have sounded any more emo? Ugh. But his voice didn’t reflect any of what was going on in his head, messed up as it was. "In part yes, but not all." </p><p>Bruce seemed to pick up on his reluctance to delve further into the subject and so instead pushed his earlier stance. "Well, no matter what Damian wants, you will always be my son and one of us. <i>That</i> is never going to change. Not even if you hang up your cape or quit WE." </p><p>Tim was skeptical. "Really?"</p><p>"Yes, really." Bruce’s mouth then quirked up into a slight smile. "And because you <i>are</i> my son, know that I am taking the very dangerous and untested creation of yours away because as your father I can’t let you keep risking your life using it."</p><p>Tim glared, but all he said out loud in response was a very sullen, "Fine." </p><p>Inwardly he was screaming <i>Nooo, my precious!</i> and pouting. </p><p>Then he had a thought and perked up. "Hey, I still have all my notes and data! I bet I can recreate it now. If I managed to rebuild it using that, then it wouldn’t be so dangerous anymore because I would understand exactly what I was doing."</p><p>Yes, this was perfect! It would be so awesome too, especially since the tank would be horizontal this time. No more climbing for him. He’d just have to figure out how to keep all the fluid from escaping when he opened the hatch and— </p><p>Bruce’s face fell as he picked up on the direction Tim’s mind was already going. "Tim, please, no."</p><p>“We could do it together!” Tim saw that Bruce wasn’t convinced and threw down the biggest weapon in their family’s arsenal. “Think of how much this would help Alfred.” </p><p>“...Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>—fin—</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>